Seventh Avenue Read online

  “Split the difference? Now he’s doing me favors. People go bankrupt from such favors. A hundred and a quarter and that’s it.”

  “We’ll get rich together,” Jay countered.

  “I can’t live on promises. Take a hundred and thirty-five in assorted sizes, and colors.”

  “Black and navy only. And we want sixteens to forty-fours.”

  “What’s wrong with the colors?”

  “Nothing, except that we can’t sell them. And we’ll buy only winter goods.”

  “It’s a heat wave. What’s the matter with you? We have an Indian summer that lasts till the end of October every year.”

  “It’ll turn cold. I’m getting married, so we’re bound to have snow.”

  “Rhoda, my child, tell him about the weather man.”

  “He’s right, Jay.”

  “I’m taking the risk. If I’m right I want first priority on reorders and you’ll get an order for five hundred dollars, provided you guarantee delivery.”

  “I think you ought to listen to me ‘cause you’re going wrong on sizes and colors.”

  “I think you don’t know Borough Park,” Jay said sharply. “The women we deal with buy dresses for three occasions: weddings, funerals, and bar mitzvahs.” He picked at the dresses. “Kelly green, red, powder blue, beige, you can’t wear for more than a season.”

  “Then what about sizes? We don’t sell furniture covers.”

  “A slim flat-chested woman has never been seen in Borough Park. All our customers are double-breasted Mrs. Americas who’ve had a few kids and eat potatoes all year round to prevent colds, and they’ve got plenty of hanging bits. When I go into the corset business, I’ll buy small sizes. But now, sixteen to forty-four. Big sizes you can make smaller, small dresses you can only use as dish rags.”

  “The man knows what he wants.”

  Jay and Rhoda spent the next hour selecting dresses; when they had finished, they had ninety-six dresses that came to one hundred and thirty-eight dollars, which Jay believed they could turn over with a hundred percent profit in two weeks. By this time, Marty himself was persuaded that Jay would be as good as his word.

  “You’re three bucks over the limit,” Marty said as he helped Jay fold the dresses.

  “I’m an inexperienced buyer.”

  “Chop a dress off then.”

  “Chop your head off first, and that’s a fact. I want ninety-six garments, not an odd lot. Remind me to buy you a drink the next time I’m in town.” Jay signed the bill, extended his hand to Marty, and pinched him affectionately on the cheek. “Stick with me and you’ll be wearing a diamond ring on your pipik.”

  “Gotta love him, don’t you? But one word in your ear: the last guy that hung me up, got his head split open. Still in the hospital.”

  On the way down in the elevator, Rhoda turned fearfully to Jay.

  “Think he meant it?”

  “He’s a bullshitter. Likes to talk. But a nice guy.”

  “What if we can’t pay?”

  “No such word as can’t. Won’t maybe, but not can’t. Before I went up there, you didn’t think we’d get dresses. Now that we’ve got them, you’re worried about not being able to pay. Rhoda, catch up with me, will you! Or I’ll leave you behind.”

  She was unable to answer, and she was terrified, because she realized that even though his manner had been playful, an attempt to simulate confidence and thereby create it, he had been serious. She was no longer in the position of coaching a sharp-witted but uneducated roughneck, a potential hoodlum; she was being pulled along by a determined man, a man incapable of even rudimentary idealism, a man whose savagery, drive and antisocial tendencies had been quickly harnessed; an animal built for survival. She studied his face and now that the performance was over she could see that he was nervous and worried, but like a beast of prey who had set a trap, he was ready to spring.

  “Jay, I want to ask you a question.”

  “Who’s stopping you?”

  “Do you love me?”

  For a moment he thought about her question, and then like a snarling, cornered animal, he said: “I’m gonna marry you, isn’t that enough!”

  The cold weather that Jay had so confidently predicted came three weeks later. A combination of feverish salesmanship and promises of secret trysts with the majority of Modes’ Amazonian clientele enabled him to pay Marty well within the promised time. A freakish bit of luck convinced Jay that he was one of God’s chosen few. Mr. Finkelstein, a winter sportsman of three decades standing, made his annual hegira to Lakewood’s frosty climes two months earlier than usual. The cold snap had caught everyone unprepared and Finkelstein, making one of the boldest decisions of his life, decided to take advantage of the absence of sunshine and the lower-than-season rates, which also coincided with the retailer’s Thirtieth Pinochle Convention. Garbed in a remodeled Alpaca coat with a fox collar, a legacy of his late wife, and smelling like a man who had been poisoned with some unknown Borgia henbane - the commingled fetor of oil of wintergreen, bay rum, and a recently acquired mustard plaster - he appeared at the shop carrying a suitcase that had spent its existence in the valley of dust under his bed until he rediscovered it. When he entered the shop, he fell into a silent reverie, having forgotten the purpose of his visit and so went to his usual stool. Rhoda tugged his collar.

  “What’s wrong, Mr. Finkelstein?” She pointed at the suitcase from which the leg of his long underwear was attempting to escape.

  “To Lakewood . . . two weeks. Look after . . .” He gave Jay a wayward smile, rotated the wax in his eardrum with his index finger, and with his morning’s lacerations fled into the street. Jay ran after him, caught him a block later at an intersection.

  “Your valise, you forgot it,” Jay said.

  Finkelstein for a moment did not recognize Jay and thought he was under arrest, so he raised his hands in the air.

  “It’s Jay!”

  Finkelstein lowered his arms when he realized that the voice was familiar. He took the suitcase from Jay, and to make sure that no pilfering had been done while it was out of his sight he set it down on the curb and opened it. He examined the contents with great attention to detail; having satisfied himself that his eleven packs of pinochle cards and his single pair of long underwear had not been tampered with he shook Jay’s shoulder affectionately.

  “You wonderful . . . take care . . .” he uttered with some difficulty, then as the light changed he darted across the street.

  Finkelstein’s unexpected departure drove Jay to new heights of audacity. As soon as he got back to the shop he told Rhoda that he had to get in touch with Marty and would go to Manhattan. She gave him a helpless shrug, realizing that any comment she made would result in an argument.

  “It’s meant to be,” Jay said exultantly.

  “What is?”

  “That we’re gonna make it, what else? I’ve got another idea.”

  “To rob the old man?”

  “That’s the wrong attitude. We’re helping him and ourselves. What’s he losing on the deal? If not for us he’d be out on his ass, starving, or in some goddamned home for nut cases. As it is, he’s going to Lakewood without a care in the world, and can play pinochle till he’s blue in the face. Live and let live.”

  “All of a sudden you’ve got so hard.”

  “Not all of a sudden. I just never had the right chance before. Now listen, when Ruthie and Mary come in, make them wait on the tough customers, the ones who would walk even if we had them, and you sell our stuff to the ones who want to buy.”

  “We’re out of practically everything.”

  “Do I have to draw you pictures? Sell what we’ve got, till I get back with more schmatas.”

  “What about tonight?”

  “Well, what about it?”

  “Howie’s wife is making an engagement dinner for us at the house.”

  “Uch!”

  “You don’t even know them, so how can you . . . ?”

  “I m
et them once.”

  “Jay, listen to me. They’re gonna be your family, whether you like it or not, so make an effort to get along with them. You never know when you need family.”

  “I’ve got my own, and that’s enough.”

  “Howie likes you.”

  “He doesn’t even know me.”

  “Give him a chance.”

  “Myrna gonna be there?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Then count me out.”

  “Jay, I promise you. I swear to God, if you don’t come, you can forget about your little scheme here. I’ll pack it in. She’s my sister, and I love her.”

  “She can plotz in hell for all I care . . . but I’ll make an effort.”

  “You’ll be back what time?”

  “Late this afternoon . . . I’m off.”

  “Jay, kiss me.”

  He went over and gave her a peck on the cheek and then flew out the door, leaving her standing in the middle of the shop, her arms open, like a statue, expectant, hopeful, and grasping nothing. She picked up a broom and started to sweep the floor before opening the door to the morning’s trade. Disconsolately, she got out the dustpan and gathered the bits of material, wondering what had happened, what had gone wrong with her and Jay. Never once in all the time that she was pregnant - and she was now entering the fifth month - had he asked how she felt, whether she was tired, what the doctor had said, how the marriage arrangements were going; he had always been difficult to pin down, but she had never before noticed how impersonal their relationship had become. It seemed to have gone from genesis to death without any of the intervening life-action that would have filled it out, and made her sense of loss something tangible, a slice of life with substance and meaning. Loss she was experiencing, for sure, but it was of a kind she could not pinpoint because they had not created anything that functioned. Since she had assumed the role of confidante and accomplice the intimacy they had possessed for a fleeting moment had vanished like a ghost, so that all she retained was the memory of it. She attempted to reassure herself by examining it every now and then, as one did a school diploma, in an effort to recapture a moment in time that she had lived through and which ultimately belonged to her. She loved him, and she recognized that this was her weakness, for Jay’s strength lay in utilizing weakness. He was like an animal that can attack only when it is certain that defense, let alone retaliation, is impossible.

  “Oh, he’s here,” Marty said to an attractive redhead whose arm he had taken while they waited for the elevator in the little hallway outside his showroom. “The Rudolph Valentino of Borough Park - the scourge of every happily married man. Just look at that serious, beautiful face, would you believe he’d steal your handbag the moment he had your dress off?”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “To lunch if it’s okay by you. I’m interviewing for a showroom girl. Eva Meyers, this is Jay Blackman - an alias if I ever heard one.”

  “Forget about lunch,” Jay said, taking Marty’s free hand and ushering him back inside. “I want some dresses and quick.”

  “Where’s the fire? I’m conducting an interview.”

  “Look, spare me the act and give this young lady a boff some other time.”

  “Hey, just a minute. Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? You ought to get your mouth washed with soap,” the young woman said.

  “I want to buy a thousand dollars’ worth of merchandise. If you’re too busy to sec me, I can go elsewhere.”

  “Eva, my child, sit down in my office for a minute and have a drink, while I get rich.”

  “Oh, all right, but I don’t like him.”

  “But I like you,” Jay said. “Only I haven’t got time now, but I’ll get around to you, and that’s a promise.”

  Eva gave him the “sign,” and he smiled at her.

  “Jay, what’s wrong with you? I don’t mind you wrecking my business, but my love life not even my wife interferes with.”

  “I want five hundred dresses at two bucks a throw.”

  “This isn’t a whorehouse.”

  “Same difference.”

  “I said credit up to five hundred dollars. I’m not running a mission here.”

  “You’ll get paid in two weeks’ time and I’ll give you twenty percent down in cash right now. So you’re only going three hundred over your limit.”

  “What’s the excitement? Finkelstein drop dead?”

  “He went to Lakewood for two weeks.”

  “You know, if anyone found out we’d all wind up in the can.”

  “You’re safe. You’re just a supplier - a businessman taking a risk - nothing else.”

  “You’re a hard man. Hey, you still looking for a store?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Well, I heard the other day that a little jewelry shop on Fourteenth Street is going out of business. It’s a small place, regular asshole, you got to slide into it sideways. And if a woman’s got big tits, you’ll have to wait on her in the street.”

  “You know what rent they’re asking?

  “I only like just heard. Why don’t you go down there and find out who the landlord is. Good location near the department stores.”

  “Not interested really, but thanks just the same.”

  Jay picked out everything he wanted and was about to leave when Marty grabbed his arm.

  “You gotta slow down or you’ll have a heart attack. Look, why don’t you have lunch then come back up, and we’ll kill a bottle and have a few laughs? We’ll interview together.”

  “Till what time will you be here?”

  “About five or so?”

  “Maybe I’ll see you then, but now I’ve got to meet someone.”

  In the street, Jay rushed into a taxi waiting at the curb. It was some moments before he realized that this was the first time he had ever been in a taxi.

  “Fourteenth Street, Mister,” the driver said, pulling up by the square.

  Jay walked down the long street, trying to take in everything at once; the number of shoppers, the types of stores, what the competition might be like, whether it would be possible to buck the big chains by combining personal attention with good value. His mind seethed with inchoate ideas - special bargains, sales, and then it occurred to him - the gimmick that would make his business different. The simplicity of it astonished him, but it was something that no one else had thought of. The department stores were too large and had to carry too many different types of dresses - catering to everyone’s tastes - to try anything so radical. If he couldn’t make a big profit on every dress he sold, and he knew instinctively that this wasn’t possible, he had to make a small profit and sell in volume. It would limit the range of dresses he could buy, but that hardly mattered so long as the profit at the end of the year was reasonable. A one-price store: EVERY DRESS $2! No alterations or fittings because that was a headache, and one had to pay dressmakers good money.

  He located the jewelry shop. The small window contained hundreds of rings, watches, bracelets, cufflinks, earrings and clocks of all sizes. It was as though someone had robbed a customs shed, filled up a suitcase with contraband and dumped it into the window. It was all so chaotic that he became dizzy as he tried to take it in. No one in his right mind would possibly buy anything in there, he reasoned, so the owner had to rely on niggling watch repairs in order to keep his head above water; and this had no doubt also failed because people would be reluctant to trust their watches to a man who ran a junkyard.

  Jay entered the shop and saw a tall, thin man with a receding hairline and the dandruff of a lifetime on his jacket. The man seemed surprised to see him and looked at him queerly as though the notion of someone who wanted to make a purchase was not only singular but also unnatural. He gasped and came towards Jay, still staring vacantly.

  “Er, can I help you?”

  “I think you can.”

  “You want to buy something?”

  “Not exactly.”

  The man sig
hed with relief.

  “Then what . . . ?”

  “I’ve heard that you plan to give the shop up.”

  “Plan to?” The man wondered if Jay were insane. “I already have! Wouldn’t have it another minute if it were up to me.”

  “That’s pretty definite.”

  “It should be. I’ve sweated it out for three years, and I’ll be relieved to get out. Going back to my old job with Ingersoll. I must have been crazy to leave in the first place. Why, are you interested in the shop?”

  “I might be,” he said cagily.

  “Well, I’ll tell you something - something for nothing. If you were to put up a sign in the window that said one dollar given for every penny, you wouldn’t have five pennies at the end of the day. You couldn’t give money away in this store.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The location. Wrong end of Fourteenth Street. People go to Hearns, Ohrbach’s or Klein’s. They don’t want to know about the little guy. Save your money, Mister. Rockefeller couldn’t make a go of this.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “In exactly ten more days, I wish it was tomorrow. My God, it’s been like being trapped underground in a coal mine for three years.”

  “I wonder if you can tell me - if I’m not getting too personal - what the rent is here?”

  “Fifty a month too much.”

  “Fifty a month.”

  “That’s right. And it’s not worth a goddamned penny. The landlord couldn’t give it away, ‘cause it’s a jinx store. Nobody’s ever made a living here. Two people have gone bust before me, and I’m getting out just in time.” He wrote something down on a piece of paper and handed it to Jay. “Here’s the landlord’s address and phone number if you want to get in touch, but do yourself a favor and look elsewhere. You look like a nice boy, and it’d be a pity to ruin yourself.”

  Jay took the piece of paper and studied it for a moment.

  “Thanks for your help.”

  “Help? What I’ve done is a public service.”

  Jay went at once to a phone booth in a cigar store on the corner and made an appointment with the landlord. Then he rang Marty to say he could not come back.

  “Say, please, I’m begging you to come. I’ve got three dolls here all waiting to get screwed, and I haven’t got three petzels. Everybody wants to work for me.”